


Books and Cleverness

by Andy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humour, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andy/pseuds/Andy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger had always thought that sex could very easily be compared to reading a book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Books and Cleverness

As the brown-haired young woman sat by the bar of Wandlore, she thought about sex. This was not surprising, really, considering that she was most likely to get some of the said activity later on in the night, and Wandlore on Friday nights was rarely used for anything else except not-so-subtle verbal and physical foreplay. But what some people might find surprising was the act she was comparing it to.

Hermione Granger had always thought that sex could very easily be compared to reading a book, a fact which Harry and Ron thought amusing beyond comprehension. But they were men, more specifically twenty-year-old ex-Gryffindor men, what would they understand about the joys of a good novel? If they would bother using their brains instead of their cocks for three seconds, they would find that the two acts were in all senses but physically very similar.

As she saw the mocha-skinned man enter the bar, she felt the same surge of excitement that she felt whenever she saw a new book that she wanted to read. The feeling that she _has_ to know what's behind that cover art, what's hiding under that beautiful binding. The urge to touch, to feel, wanting to know all its secrets.

Now, the next part was of course a bit different, Hermione mused as the man whom she recognised as a former Slytherin sat down next to her with a slightly wicked-looking smile. A book you could just buy or borrow – well, you could do that with a man, too, it would just be slightly harder – but she actually had to work for this. Not that she minded, as she enjoyed the chase just as much as the kill, in addition to the fact that she had grown up to be quite beautiful, and hence rarely had to walk home empty-handed. The same applied to books: though she sometimes had to pull some strings or save a while to get a particular piece of literature, she always ended up getting it. Hermione's mother had always told her daughter that the longer the wait, the sweeter the prize. Ten years later, the young woman still thought that this was definitely correct. Just like seeing a book on the shelf, calculating what she'd have to do to get it, she now sat next to this gorgeous man, holding a drink and casting flirtatious glances at him.

Wondering whether it was easier to get men than books, she held on to the mocha-skinned man's torso as he half an hour later Apparated them to his flat.

There was no part in sex or literature that she liked better than another, it was all pure heaven. The firm pressure of a man's hands on her waist, the fingers threading through her hair, the teasing tongue in her mouth… it was all so much like the first pages of a book, the quivers of excitement caused by the knowledge that something is going to happen soon, something fantastic that's going to keep her busy for a long time, something she's going to remember for ages.

As Hermione and her Man of the Day (or night, to be precise) stumbled into the bedroom and started shedding clothes with a rather frantic pace, her eyes happened to catch a glimpse of the latest novel she'd bought: a mystery, where brave Aurors chased a serial killer through Britain. Now, every tweak of the man's fingers on her nipples, every brush of his cock against the back of her throat, every stroke of his tongue against her sensitive folds reminded her of her reaction to the Aurors finding a new body, or a new clue toward the inevitable climax.

And really, the rush to climax was exactly the same in both of her favourite hobbies. At first you're content to just going slowly, attempting to thoroughly enjoy every bit of the experience, but it's impossible to resist the urge to want _morefasterharderNOW_ after a while, once things really start to get going. There comes the time when nothing is enough, you physically need to know the peak in the whole story, how it all ends. Every thrust of the man's cock is too agonisingly slow and yet so intensely satisfying that Hermione let her groans of pleasure flow freely, at the same time whispering words that would have made her best friends blush.

Hermione's brain was a thunderstorm of different emotions as she finally began to see stars, as she felt the story of this night unravelling in her body; a story of feelings, of pain, of love and hate, of pure and undiluted pleasure. As her former schoolmate's manhood hit her most private walls a couple of more times before he tensed completely, grunting Hermione's name in her ear, she felt one last surge of that incredible energy before the lethargy hit.

The mandatory last pages of a book, the ones with smiles and promises of more, were just as good as the introduction and rising action – though, Hermione admitted as she lay curled against the man's side, not as good as that final explosion. But every book has to end sometime, as does this one. Hermione left the apartment next morning, hair astray and a bruise on her neck, feeling the same content buzz in her head that she did every time after reading a good book. The smile at the door and discreet promise to write a sequel was all part of the experience, one that Hermione wouldn't trade for anything.

She really didn't understand why people didn't like reading.


End file.
